If There's Going to be Any Hysterics
by Rosethorn
Summary: ...they'll come from me! Jonathan recieves an unexpected present, then tells Evy all about it. Crossover with The Dresden Files, TV.
1. Chapter 1

"This isn't a good idea," says one, with deep disapproval in his voice.

"You have not supplied a better," snaps another, packing the skull in a heavy wood box, nesting it carefully among the sawdust and straw. "Besides, there is no caretaker better than a coward. He will see to it that the punishment is not undone." 

The one snorts, but does not speak, and pastes the label on when the other demands. He is subordinate, after all, and his not to question why.

But it will not end well.

------

Jonathan is accustomed to getting mysterious boxes from the Council, but a skull is a new one.

He stares at the skull in its nest of packaging, then picks it up, and tosses it up and down experimentally. An old skull, though the hieroglyphics look new. He tries a spot of translating, gives up. Hieroglyphics are Evy's specialty. He'll ask her for a translation later. For now, he'll puzzle out why the Council would send him a skull. He doesn't think they'd give him a paperweight.

He holds the skull out at arm's length, dramatically, and declaims, "Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio…"

The skull opens its mouth and _roars,_ a strange and terrifying sound he's heard only once before in his waking hours, underground in Hamunaptra, and then innumerable times in his dreams. The face from those nightmares materializes, twisted with rage and pain, roars again.

Should anyone ask, the scream Jonathan utters at that moment is an attempt to frighten the thing away, and not a remarkably good imitation of a schoolgirl confronted with a snake.

He drops the skull (which, improbably, bounces). Imhotep settles, glares at him, and rolls his eyes. "Not _you!_ Ai, gods!" he exclaims, and stalks into the corner to sulk.

Jonathan faints.


	2. Chapter 2

"EVY!"

Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell had been enjoying a rather lovely day until her brother shouted directly in her ear. She jolted, and accidently flung the cup of tea she was holding into Jonathan's face.

"Well! I like that!" her brother huffed, brushing ineffectually at his jacket with quick, nervous motions. "I come to you for help and get drenched." 

Evy ignored his dramatics. "What is so important that you had to come tearing down here and scare me half to death?" she demanded, slamming her book shut and twisting to look up at him.

Jonathan paled.

That was not remarkable in and of itself—Jonathan frequently paled, and at the most inconsequential things, too. He was quite amusing with cockroaches, especially after the incident with the scarabs. But there was something about the way his hands started to shake…

"Jonathan?" she prompted, starting to feel uneasy.

"Evy," he repeated, smoothing his hands against his sides. "Evy. That box I got. Who brought it?"

She blinked. "The Royal Mail, I suppose. What's that got to do with anything?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No postmark. I don't suppose that American of yours saw anyone."

Evy snorted. "No, _Rick_ did not see anyone. We were out at the museum when the mail came. Why? What's in it?"

"A skull," Jonathan said, baldly. "The Council sent it to me."

"A _what?"_ She jumped to her feet, spilling her book and now-empty teacup every which way and not really caring. "The _Council?_ Is it a threat?"

That was _all_ they needed, the Council getting on Jonathan's back again. He wasn't a very good wizard, but he obeyed the Laws, and he'd done them a favor, helping to put Imhotep back in his grave where he bloody well belonged. Just the thought of those stupid old men threatening her dear, silly brother… "_Ooh, _I'll—"

"It's not a threat," Jonathan interrupted, and gave her a wan smile. "It's not as bad as all that, old mum. It's… an assignment, I suppose you could say."

Evy sat again, slowly, and crossed her legs with great precision. "Oh, really. An assignment. After how long?"

"Evy," Jonathan said, again. "It's Imhotep."

She did not move. In fact, she did not move with such emphasis that Jonathan began to sweat, apparently out of habit.

"Imhotep," she said, calmly. Too calmly. She could hear the impending hysterics in her _own_ voice.

"Evy," Jonathan began, hastily, in his let's-not-cause-a-scene-now voice. It was the voice he usually saved for when he'd done something horrible and didn't want to get yelled at for it. "It's not terrible, now, Evy, I promise. They've cursed him, stuck him in his skull for good, and he can't get out of it, and between you and me I think the stodgers at the Council are much better than the Medjai at that sort of thing. When they curse someone he jolly well stays cursed, so you see there's nothing to worry about, _really…"_

"_Jonathan,"_ Evy said, in the tone she usually used in response to that particular voice of her brother's. Where his suggested quiet in the interest of keeping a low profile, hers promised one of two immediate futures; either he stopped talking, or she would make him.

Jonathan, as he usually did, chose the former and hastily closed his mouth.

"You're kidding," Evy said. She fervently hoped he was, anyway.

He mutely shook his head, a look on his face like a kicked puppy.

"Oh, dear _God."_


End file.
